The Physical Contact Trice Impossibility
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: Sheldon doesn't like to be touched for a number of reasons. But this... this is different and he's not sure why. Slight S/P. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** Nope, don't own it. Not even watching anymore, if I'm being honest… (*dodges rotten tomatoes*)

**A/n:** I heard a promo for the new Big Bang episode the other day talking about "the man who doesn't like to be touched". My S/P shipping brain went off on a tangent and I couldn't stop it – this happened. Sort of an unofficial companion to my other slight S/P fic, _The Juice & Muffin Quandary. _Enjoy!

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><p><strong>The Physical Contact Trice Impossibility<strong>_  
><em>

_(nothing stays the same)_

There are a number of reasons why Sheldon Cooper doesn't like to be touched, first and foremost being the transfer of germs. It's the main reason why the idea of kissing is sufficiently appalling to him, though truth be told there's never really been anyone in particular he's ever had the inclination to kiss. One can never be sure what viruses or bacteria another person has come in contact with. He figures it's better to be safe than sorry, so he nixes the act of touching another person altogether if he is not absolutely required to. It's why he doesn't shake hands (unless mandatory, like when meeting someone in authority for example) or reciprocate high-fives (secondarily, he silently notes the idiocy of that particular social habit) and why he never leaves home without a travel sized bottle of anti-bacterial hand sanitizer.

Besides the germ factor, there's just a certain _unpleasantness_ Sheldon associates with touch. It feels unnatural to him and there's just no need for it, in his opinion. There are too many variables he can't control (sticky sweaty hands, uncomfortably cold hands, contagious skin diseases and so forth) and dismissing the practice altogether has always worked just fine for him – minus of course certain family members (Meemaw, for instance, he has always allowed to hug him, and his mother and sister tend to embrace him too, though usually without permission). No, it's not that he hasn't ever _been_ touched, it's just that given the choice he'd always elect the option where physical touch isn't necessary – certainly never wanted.

Then there's this moment, this _touch_, that causes his brain to short like a faulty electrical system.

Somehow he's gotten himself into the situation of baking confections for Bernadette and Howard's engagement party – he still isn't sure how _absolutely not,_ _never would I waste my time_ and _I don't bake or cook EVER_ was interpreted as _golly gee I would love to lend a hand tomorrow evening_, but here he is, stirring batter of some description, with Penny of all people telling him he's doing it wrong. For the love of Spock, he's a scientist, he's certain he can handle _stirring_. And then she grabs his wrist and his mind fizzles and sparks and shuts down.

"Here," she says, and still holding his wrist, manipulates his arm to form a tighter circle. "You have to beat the eggs in, Sheldon. Stir faster, like this."

He turns his gaze down on her blonde head, notes the streak of flour on her flushed cheek and thick eyelashes over green eyes. Sheldon struggles with the way _her_ touch is _anything_ but unpleasant. In fact, he thinks, he might almost…

But the moment is over as she takes her hand away, oblivious to his inner astonishment, and is already babbling on about icing colors and matching cupcake wrappers. He glances at his wrist, suddenly finding it feeling too cool and strange without her hand on it, and can't see anything physically different, though something _must _be. His mind is back up and spinning, however, and he catalogues the incident as an anomaly that shouldn't be dwelled upon further (it makes no sense and is therefore discarded).

So Sheldon begins complaining loudly (for the _hundredth time, _according to Penny's inaccurate estimation) about why he _had_ to participate in such a pedestrian task, all the while dressed in such a demeaning article of clothing. To which Penny replies, in what he's fairly certain is exasperation, that an apron is what one wears when one bakes, though Sheldon can't help countering that surely there were other aprons and that there is no logical reason why he must be forced to wear such a frilly, flowery one in any event.

Hours later when he's alone in his room, he stretches his arm out in the semi-darkness before him and flexes his hand experimentally. Nothing is amiss, however, as he had earlier concluded, so he lays his arm back down and gives his head a shake.

_(nothing changes)_

**-end-**

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><p><strong>An: **I can't help shipping Sheldon and Penny even if it never really happens on the show. Thanks for reading! Reviews always appreciated. **  
><strong>


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